


You are my medicine

by HopeSilverheart



Series: Loving Em at 2AM [66]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s03e05 Frayed, Episode: s03e06 Motel California, Fix-It, Fools in Love, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Is anyone ever good at communication?, Lack of Communication, Lots of feelings and thoughts here, M/M, Major Character Injury, Panic Attacks, Stiles Stilinski Takes Care Of Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25369708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeSilverheart/pseuds/HopeSilverheart
Summary: Before he could even start moving, however, a loud clang echoed throughout the vehicle. A year ago, Stiles would have assumed an animal had knocked into him accidentally, but he had since learned that ‘animals’ in Beacon Hills were a lot rarer than werewolves and other insanely powerful beings. For a second, he thought about taking off without looking at what was going on outside, but whatever had run into the back of the jeep suddenly stumbled forwards and into his rear-view mirror and Stiles finally saw-Derek.Frantic and pained red eyes rose to meet his through the window, and Stiles slammed the door open before he could even thinking about being afraid.Or: When Derek is injured after the fight with the Alpha Pack, he turns to Stiles first.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Loving Em at 2AM [66]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764400
Comments: 6
Kudos: 268





	You are my medicine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thatnerdemryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatnerdemryn/gifts).



Stiles knew his friends thought he was insane for deciding to skip out on the meet. Just that morning, Scott had called him right before getting on the bus to ask Stiles if he was sure about what he was doing. Stiles’ answer had been the same then as it had been the night before; _yes_ , he was sure, and _no_ , there was nothing Scott could do to convince him to come.

A part of him wondered if his friend knew what was really going on with Stiles; did Scott suspect there was a hole in Stiles’ heart that could only be filled by dark eyes and rough words? Did he know Stiles could barely even think, too busy worrying about the alpha they hadn’t been able to find? Did he know it physically pained Stiles to hear everyone say he was _dead_?

Did he know Stiles couldn’t even bear to say his name in his own mind, too afraid it would bring with it memories he wasn’t sure he could handle at the moment? He had tried blocking it out the way everyone else seemingly had, but it had lingered at the back of Stiles’ mind.

Scott blamed himself for Derek’s disappearance – _Derek, Derek,_ his heart chanted – but did he know Stiles blamed himself too? Because he hadn’t been there. He had known about werewolves and supernatural beings for months now, and he still hadn’t tried to learn how to defend himself, which meant he hadn’t been there. Allison had shown up, and the entire pack had been there, but Stiles had been as useless as always.

So really, who was to blame? Scott, who had at least fought by Derek’s side and whose pure intentions had led to an unfortunate accident? Or Stiles, who had never cared enough about his own well-being to realise learning how to fight would also help everyone else around him?

As he lay in his bed, his thoughts too loud and his heart too fast and everything else too dull for his comfort, he wondered how on earth he would live if the others were right. He didn’t think they were, of course, because Derek always made it out alive, but what if this had been the one time too many? Stiles hadn’t even realised how much the other man meant to him until Scott had so carelessly told him Derek was dead, and his heart had all but stopped.

No one had known, least of all him, how much Derek mattered to him. He had foolishly believed his feelings were more in the realm of mild resentment or complete disinterest, but he should have known better. He should have recognised the signs of infatuation from the very start because maybe then, at least, he would have gotten to figure things out before Derek went missing.

Because that’s he was. _Missing_. Not dead; until they had a body, he wasn’t dead, _couldn’t_ be dead.

Stiles took a deep and shaky breath as he felt his heart speeding up again, and panic flooded his mind as he struggled to let it out again. He knew what the beginning of a panic attack felt like, and he knew the difficulty breathing had always been his biggest tell.

He breathed in again, trying to count in his mind, trying to think about the good things in his life, trying to remember what his father had taught him, back when the attacks had started. _Picture the things you love, Stiles_. But even as he tried, all he could see were glowing eyes, strong hands holding Stiles up when he didn’t think he could anymore, and apple-scented soap he had once hated but now craved more than anything else.

_And if the things you love are covered in pain, strip it away layer by layer_. So Stiles tried. He tried to strip away the pain from those beautiful red and hazel eyes, tried not to think about those hands being splattered with blood, and tried to imagine himself burying his nose in Derek’s hair, even though he could barely remember what his shampoo smelt like now that he was gone.

Nothing was working, and he could feel himself losing time, losing his breath, losing himself. He wanted to cry out, knowing his father would hear him and come for him, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t make a sound, not with the chaos raging inside his own mind, not when the only thing keeping him grounded was the silence of his room. His hands clenched around his sheets tightly, desperate for something to hold onto, something _real_.

There were black dots at the edge of his vision, and he knew that wasn’t a good sign. He also knew there wasn’t much he could do about it unless he breathed, and that was feeling increasingly harder by the second. He gasped, clutched at his chest and clawed at his arms as he tried to _drag_ the air out of him, but he was close to passing out and he knew it.

A part of him wanted that sweet relief, wanted to stop thinking for a few minutes, but he knew his father would be devastated if he found out about it later, and the last thing Stiles wanted to do was bring his father pain. He wanted him to be proud, to look at him lovingly and remind him that he was strong. And all he had to do was breathe.

It should have been easy but, in the end, the only thing that brought him back was a memory he hadn’t even realised he had. He had been sleeping, maybe even recovering from one of the many injuries he had acquired ever since Scott had been turned, and his dad had forbid all his friends from coming to see him. Yet, when Stiles had woken up in the middle night, he could have sworn there was someone at his window.

He had dismissed it as a strange hallucination, and perhaps that was all it truly was but, as he fought to get air circulating back through his lungs, Stiles remembered the hint of red that had flashed in his direction that night, and he breathed in deeply. He breathed and breathed and breathed again, wondering why on earth _Derek_ would have wanted to watch over him, and wondering if he would ever find out. He choked on air and panted frantically, and thought it was strange that that memory, specifically, had been the one to draw him out of his panic.

Maybe it was because that memory of Derek was untainted by everything else that was going on, or maybe it was because that memory was proof Derek had watched over him, even if it had only been once. Even if it might have been a dream.

As his breathing evened out and his heart stopped feeling like it was hammering through his chest, Stiles slowly sat up and looked around his room. He had fallen asleep fully dressed, dressed in the same outfit he had been wearing when Scott had told him about Derek. He thought it had only been a day, but it could have been two, for all he knew. It could have been two, and Stiles needed to get himself together.

He would be of no help to Derek if he was hiding underneath his blankets, having panic attacks over the disappearance of a man he might be able to save. After all, Stiles had always been good at research, especially when that research was fuelled by something as strong as his worry for Derek. His worry, and perhaps a few other feelings, but he couldn’t think about that until the other man was healthy and safe and back with them again.

He stood on shaky legs, dragging himself to his bathroom and trying to make himself somewhat presentable so his father wouldn’t ask him to stay home. He knew he still looked slightly sick by the time he ran downstairs, his laptop safely stored in his bag and his phone in hand, already sending off a text to the only person he thought could help him.

“Stiles?” His father greeted him, concern colouring his tone. “I thought you told me you were feeling sick.”

“That was two hours ago,” Stiles pointed out, grabbing an apple from the fruit basket and using it as an excuse to keep his back to his father. “Feeling all better now, so I think I’m going to meet up with a friend and get some studying done. We have lots of tests coming up, you know, and I wouldn’t want to fail any of them.”

“I thought Scott was at his- _Stiles_!”

“I really gotta go, dad! I promised her I’d be there in thirty, and I really don’t want to be late!” He was already halfway out of the door as he spoke, not wanting to linger behind and give his father a reason to disbelieve what he was saying. “I’ll see you later!”

He sprinted out before his father could try to cut him off or hold him back, hurrying towards the jeep and jamming the door open with a little effort. His fingers tapped nervously against the steering wheel as he started the engine and, although it briefly occurred to him that driving whilst he was so high on adrenaline and anxiety wasn’t the best idea, he backed out of their front yard and onto the street, hoping everything would be alright.

Before he could even start moving, however, a loud clang echoed throughout the vehicle. A year ago, Stiles would have assumed an animal had knocked into him accidentally, but he had since learned that ‘animals’ in Beacon Hills were a lot rarer than werewolves and other insanely powerful beings. For a second, he thought about taking off without looking at what was going on outside, but whatever had run into the back of the jeep suddenly stumbled forwards and into his rear-view mirror and Stiles finally saw-

_Derek_.

Frantic and pained red eyes rose to meet his through the window, and Stiles slammed the door open before he could even thinking about being afraid. He had never been afraid of Derek before, or at least not for a long time, and he wasn’t about to start now. Not when he might be the alpha’s only chance at surviving.

He jumped out of the jeep rapidly and barely just caught Derek as the man swayed and collapsed. Stiles was unfortunately far too skinny to hold him up properly, but he didn’t do half as bad a job as he thought he would, even though his legs were trembling under Derek’s weight and his fingers were shaking nervously from the sudden stress and revelation that Stiles had been right. He had been right, and now he was holding the man everyone thought was dead in his arms.

“Derek,” he murmured, trying to lightly shake the man awake and huffing when the only answer he got was a groan. “Derek, I don’t know where I’m supposed to take you. Where do we take injured werewolves who are… _bleeding everywhere_? Oh fuck, oh shit, shit, damn it! You absolute idiot, Derek Hale! How dare you show up here looking like death? How dare you trust _me_ with your life?”

Even as he talked and complained, Stiles dragged Derek to the passenger side of his jeep and, after putting him down briefly to wrench the door open, managed to stash him into the car in what was – hopefully – a semi-comfortable position. As soon as that was done, Stiles jumped back into the driver’s seat and contemplated his options.

Cora would be waiting for him in front of the school, just as Stiles had asked, but he wasn’t sure that was what Derek wanted. After all, if he wanted his sister’s help, wouldn’t he have gone to her first? There had to be something Stiles could do that the others couldn’t, right? Because why else would he choose the single human in a group of powerful and talented werewolves?

“Damn it, Derek,” he cursed underneath his breath, glancing at the older man again and biting down at his bottom lip. It was up to him to figure out what he was supposed to do because otherwise, he really _would_ have the man’s death on his hands and conscience.

He put his hands on the wheel again, ready to drive somewhere and do something, and that’s when everything hit him again. Derek was alive, he was alive, he was bleeding in his car, he was bleeding _out_ , he was alive, alive but bleeding, alive, alive-

He wasn’t sure when he had stopped breathing, but the next thing he remembered was struggling for breath and digging his fingernails into Derek’s already damaged skin, praying the man would serve as his anchor again, if only for a moment. He gasped and felt tears streaming down his face, but he refused to have a panic attack when Derek needed him most. He refused to leave his home with an alive man and get to his destination with a dead one. There was no way he was going to let that happen.

His fingers were still shaking badly as he sent Cora a text warning her he wouldn’t be able to make it, but at least he was breathing again. Or at least, he was panting, somewhat. He figured it was mostly the same thing; as long as he as getting air into his body, there shouldn’t be an issue.

By the time he left his house behind, he still didn’t know where he was going. His hands, feet, and mind, however, clearly had a goal in mind. He sped through Beacon Hills faster than what was legal and safe, unsure where he was going but knowing it was important. It was important to get Derek back to safety, back to some place where they didn’t have to worry about anyone walking in on them. Back to some place that felt a little bit like-

Home. Derek’s apartment building stared down at Stiles, and he almost knocked his head against the steering wheel at his own stupidity. Of course his body would take him to the one place Derek had claimed as his own, the slightly empty but very _Derek_ loft that Stiles hadn’t seen enough of. Thankfully, his mind tended to remember every detail about the alpha, which he assumed was how they had ended up there.

“Alright, Derek,” he said sternly, turning towards the man who was still sprawled in the passenger seat, eyes closed and lips pressed tightly together. “If you don’t wake up, there’s no way we’re going to be able to get you up there, and I _really_ don’t want to stay in this car for any longer than necessary. If you stand right now, you’ll be able to lay down for however long you want to as soon as you get to your bed. We’ll have everything we need to clean you up and make sure you’re alright and- Derek, seriously, you have to be at least semi-awake if we want to attempt this.”

The older man only grumbled in his sleep, his limbs limp and blood still pouring out of his wounds. His skin was paler and greyer than Stiles had ever seen it, and his clothes were nothing more than rags on his shoulders. But even then, _even then_ , Stiles found him absolutely beautiful. He was worried, of course, but Derek was a stunning man and Stiles was only human, especially since he knew he couldn’t do anything until the werewolf gave him a sign of consciousness.

“You know, I can sit here for as long as it takes,” Stiles huffed. It was a lie, of course, because there was no way he would manage to sit there for longer than five minutes without doing anything for Derek, but the other man didn’t necessarily know that. Or maybe he did. Maybe _that_ was why he had chosen to come to Stiles, because he knew the younger man would do anything for him; would drop his entire life to make sure Derek was okay. “I’m serious, I could admire you for hours, bloody wounds or not, so if you want to get better, you’re going to have to be the one to move things along. And I mean that very literally, Derek; you need to move your body, because I am very skinny and very frail and in no shape to carry an alpha werewolf up the stairs.”

There was a moment when Stiles thought they were really going to sit there for hours, with Derek slowly getting worse as Stiles struggled to find a solution to their problem. Then, one of the older man’s hands moved, just a little bit, and Stiles jumped on the opportunity. He was out of the jeep and running to Derek’s side in less than ten seconds, helping the slightly-conscious man out of the car and grimacing as his body tried to keep both himself and Derek up.

After that, the trip upstairs was a blur of groans and curses and careful manipulations of their bodies, with Derek stumbling every two steps and Stiles sweating profusely as he dragged twice his body weight into the elevator and tried not to drop Derek when the machine sprung into life and sent them careening upwards.

Unfortunately for Stiles, manoeuvring Derek into the loft from the elevator wasn’t any easier, especially since it seemed like the werewolf had fallen back into a state of unconsciousness at some point during their brief trip.

“Seriously?” He hissed as he bodily pulled Derek into the apartment and towards his bedroom. “You know, I’m going to need an explanation at some point, as to why you thought coming to _me_ was a good idea. You have a sister who- _fucking table_! As sister who has super strength, as well an uncle with similar abilities. You also know a secret supernatural vet who probably has more experience with this kind of thing than I do. And last but not least, don’t you have a phone somewhere? A way to contact the rest of your pack. You know, the other people with – _surprise_ – supernatural abilities!”

As it turned out, complaining and venting was an effective way of getting Stiles out of his mind and, as he paused to breathe, he realised he had successfully gotten Derek onto his bed. The man immediately curled onto himself, only to wince as his wounds let out a gush of blood that probably hurt even more than Stiles could imagine. He turned away from the sight, suddenly not so at ease with seeing Derek bleeding out, and tried to ignore the way his hands were itching to reach out for the werewolf. Just to make sure he was okay.

(Just to make sure he was alive.)

Before he could do anything else, however, his legs finally gave in under him, and he crashed onto the floor, his ankle twisting painfully. He didn’t think he was about to have a panic attack, not now that Derek was somewhat alright, or at least as alright as he would get with only Stiles to look over him. However, his heart still felt too tight in his chest, and his hands were still buzzing with that familiar need to _do_ , to _feel_ , to _act_. It was something Stiles had lived with for a long time, but it still surprised him with its intensity from time to time.

It was like his entire body was begging him to stop standing still, even as his mind was pleading for the opposite. It didn’t happen too often, or at least it didn’t get this bad too often, but the feeling was still familiar enough to Stiles that he recognised it even before it happened. His mind was working too fast, longing to think less, and his body was unable to keep up. It was- It was almost like his mind wanted him to do a hundred things at once, and yet his body couldn’t manage even a single one.

And that was how he felt, sitting in the middle of Derek’s bedroom, helpless to do anything but watch as the man, his- his _friend_ bled and bled, moaning in pain and whimpering every few minutes. He was frozen in place, even as every inch of him yearned to be by Derek’s side. He was starting to think they would both die there, unable to help each other – let alone themselves – and too far from everyone they loved to ask for their assistance.

Then, just as it had happened earlier, Stiles’ mind started working again. He had no idea what was going on until he noticed Derek moving, _truly_ moving, almost as though the man was trying to sit u-

“Woah!” He cried out, scrambling up onto his feet and taking a few unsteady and hurried steps towards Derek’s bed. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re way too injured to be sitting up and trying to- Derek, why are you trying to stand? Sit down! No, scratch that! Lay down, for god’s sake!”

He punctuated his last words with a soft jab to the man’s chest. Unsurprisingly, Derek didn’t move an inch, only levelling Stiles with the darkest glare he could muster whilst he looked like death. It really wasn’t as intimidating as his usual ones were, and Stiles didn’t even flinch.

“I’m serious,” he said instead, frowning at Derek when the man brought a hand up to his sides and sucked in a breath as his fingers brushed against his deepest wound. The set of claw marks stood out starkly against his skin, and Stiles had to look away again, unable to watch Derek bring himself more pain for no reason. “If you try to stand up again, I _will_ knock you down. And this time, I’d really like to see you try to do something. You’re too weak for this, Derek, and there’s nothing you could possibly do that wouldn’t end in your death right now.”

“I need to tell the others,” was the only thing Derek answered, and Stiles rolled his eyes at this man’s stubbornness. “They need to know I’m alive, so that they can stop- so they can stop worrying.”

“Not going to happen,” Stiles shook his head, chuckling slightly hysterically. “Because you know what? The only person who’s really worried right now is _me_. You showed up next to my car looking like hell, and you expect me to let you go as though nothing happened? Absolutely not. I’m pretty sure there’s no suitable first aid kit in here, so unless you want to go to the hospital, then you’re stuck in bed. With me. Well, not in bed- I mean, not- You _know_ what I mean. Wait, do you have a suitable first aid kit?”

Derek stared at him for a second, his eyes full of something Stiles couldn’t quite place, and then he was shaking his head slowly.

“I don’t exactly need it, most of the time,” he grunted, raising his eyebrows at Stiles and flashing a pair of red eyes in his direction, as though Stiles needed the reminder of what Derek was.

“Yes well, maybe you should keep one around anyways,” Stiles pointed out. “You know, for the times when you _do_ need it. This can’t be the first time you’ve had to deal with something like this, and I would really rather not have to watch you almost die over and over again.”

“Not exactly my favourite thing to do either,” Derek growled, hissing in pain as he accidentally made a sudden move that twisted his body just a little too quickly.

“Right well, what am I supposed to do?” Stiles asked him, wringing his hands together nervously. He still had too much energy, but at least it sounded like his mind had quieted down a little bit. Just enough that it felt like he could speak without talking over himself. “You know, it’s not really polite to show up in someone’s front yard all bloody and bruised, without an explanation, and then proceed to bleed out all over my lovely jeep. And it’s especially not polite to do so without having a solution to your problems. If not first aid, then what are we supposed to do? What can possibly help you heal from injuries that look like that? And don’t you dare say-”

“Time,” Derek breathed out, earning himself a reprimanding stare from Stiles. “I’m serious; there’s nothing else we can do at this point. You must know, by now, that if a werewolf isn’t healing, the only real solution is patience.”

“Then why come to me?!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and breathing heavily as he realised how _loud_ he had just been. “Why come to _me_ , of all people, Derek? What do I have that everyone else doesn’t? What could I possibly give to you, if all you need is time? Because I feel like I’m drowning a little bit here, watching you suffer and bring yourself more pain and refuse to admit that you should _sit tight_. You don’t have to do everything all the time, Derek. Scott and the others will be fine for one day. Just tell me… Tell me, if you really want to see them, why did you come to me instead of calling them?”

Silence. For a few minutes, neither Stiles nor Derek said anything. They stared at each other intensely until Stiles could no long handle those hazel eyes gazing at him so brokenly. Right before Stiles’ thoughts could start spiralling again, Derek sighed heavily and buried his head in his hands.

“Derek…”

“I don’t know, alright?” Derek said softly, looking up at Stiles from underneath his lashes. “Or I do, but I don’t want to think about what it might mean, or what it might do, or what- I just… Leave it alone, Stiles. You took care of me, and I’m very grateful for that, but you don’t need to do anything else. You’ve done more than enough already.”

“Oh, have I?” Stiles scoffed. “Because all I recall doing is dragging your sorry ass into my car, and then into the loft, probably giving you more bruises than anything else. And then I proceeded to lay on your floor for all of about half an hour, panicking about what I was supposed to do. And now you’re telling me I’m supposed to do nothing at all? That’s not how this works, Derek! You can’t- You can’t trust everyone else and then tell me not to ask questions just because I’m human or I’m not as strong or I’m _me_!”

“That’s not why-”

“Then _why_?” Stiles cried out, gasping as he realised there were tears rolling down his cheeks. He wiped them away hurriedly and turned his back on Derek, not wanting the other man to see him so weak when _he_ was the one suffering. Derek was the one who needed help, and Stiles was making it all about him because he was insecure and tired and stressed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m making a big deal out of this when I should just be grateful you’re alive. Everyone else will be too, of course, although that’s not me giving you permission to go off and find them right this second. Anyways, are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?”

“You could turn around and look at me, for one.” Stiles’ breath caught in his throat at the sound of Derek’s husky voice. It was always deep but, like this, in the darkness of the loft, it sounded even better than usual. And that was saying something, since Derek’s voice had always been enough to make shivers rack down Stiles’ spine. “Stiles, come on.”

If he were a stronger man, Stiles would have stood his ground until Derek cracked and told him why he had chosen Stiles out of everyone else in their life. However, Stiles _wasn’t_ a stronger man. He was just a high school student who wasn’t sure what he had done to deserve being dragged into this crazy lifestyle. And more importantly, he was just a guy who couldn’t stand to go against what Derek wanted, not if it meant seeing those hazel eyes soften just a little bit, as they sometimes did when Stiles did something he approved of.

And indeed, the second he twisted around and let his eyes rest on Derek’s face, the man’s gaze turned just the slightest bit fond. It warmed something deep inside Stiles’ heart and reminded him of why he didn’t mind the fact that Derek was a man of few words.

What he didn’t say out loud, he communicated in looks and body language and the tiniest hints of emotions. Or perhaps more accurately, what he _couldn’t_ say out loud. Stiles wasn’t familiar with that particular feeling, since he was the type to say too much instead of not enough, but he still understood what it felt like to need to get his feelings out in a slightly unconventional manner.

“I’m not actually mad, you know,” he mumbled, kicking his foot against the bottom of the bed and immediately regretting it when Derek jumped up in surprise. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising for things you can’t control, Stiles,” Derek shook his head and patted the bed next to him, almost as though-

Stiles’ eyes widened as he hurried to sit down next to Derek, not wanting the man to take back his offer before Stiles could act. Unfortunately, sitting down didn’t help soothe his nerves. In fact, it only made him want to bounce his leg more, or pinch his fingers together just to make sure he was still real, or card his fingers through Derek’s hair – which was by far the most tempting option, even though it was the one he knew he shouldn’t have even considered.

“Look, you were worried, I get it,” Derek said gruffly, even though the confusion in his eyes told Stiles that he _didn’t_ get it, no matter the words spilling past his lips. “You thought I was dead, and then I wasn’t, and now you want to help. I appreciate it, I do, but you can’t.”

“I just- I don’t understand,” Stiles breathed out, holding back another round of frustrated tears as Derek raised his hand as though he wanted to touch him, only to clench it around the bedsheets again. “I don’t understand any of this. I don’t understand why I was so worried in the first place, when all you’ve done- When we haven’t had the best relationship in the past. And I don’t understand why you came to me, either. But mostly, I don’t understand… I don’t understand what we are, Derek. How is it that you can trust me with your life, but not with a simple explanation?”

He knew he wasn’t making much sense. Usually, Stiles was a logical person. Sure, he used sarcasm as a defence mechanism more often than not and sure, he wasn’t always completely truthful, but he was still reasonable. He rambled occasionally, but he didn’t think he had ever sounded as incomprehensible as he currently did. Maybe it was just the fact that Derek was around.

After all, Stiles had always been slightly more vulnerable when the alpha was nearby, even when there was no danger in sight. But now, with blood and wounds that were healing too slowly for Stiles’ tastes, his sense were on high alert, and he wasn’t sure he could have strung together a single coherent sentence even if he had wanted to.

“I can trust you with my life, because my life is an easy thing,” Derek answered softly. This time, when he reached out for Stiles, he didn’t stop a few inches away. Instead, he grabbed his chin gently and tilted it upwards until they were gazing straight at each other again, no escape in sight. “You and I, we’re anything but easy, Stiles. Surely, even you know that. You don’t understand much, but to be honest, neither do I. I have no idea why I decided to come to you, although… Well, that might be a lie, but one I’m not quite ready to look into quite yet. And I don’t understand why you were worried either, since I’m not quite sure I deserved it.”

“Oh god, spare me from werewolves and their inability to see the good in themselves,” Stiles rolled his eyes, regretting his actions when Derek pulled his hand away from Stiles’ face. He missed the touch instantly, wanted nothing more than to feel Derek’s skin against his own. So, in a fit of madness and stress and a thousand other emotions Stiles didn’t care to explore, he grabbed onto Derek’s hand before he could scrunch it up in the silky fabric again.

He grabbed it, and then he held on. He hadn’t realised he was still trembling until his hand was in Derek’s and steadier than it had been in hours. He stared at their linked fingers for a while longer, the vision more mesmerising than anything he had ever seen, before snapping himself out of it and remembering what they had been talking about.

“I’m serious, Derek. You have plenty of good in your heart, you’re just too stubborn to see it. And you deserve to have people worrying about you, even though you think you should be the strong alpha who never needs anyone,” Stiles murmured, biting his lip and almost choking on his own breath when Derek’s gaze strayed to his mouth at the nervous motion.

“Oh please,” Derek whispered, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Save me from small humans and their inability to see the bad in others.”

“Believe me, I’ve seen all the bad in you, or at least as much as you’ve dared to show us,” Stiles snorted. “The thing is, I truly believe that in your case, the good outweighs the bad. The many wonderful things you’ve done matter more to me than the very few evil ones. And would you look at that, it seems like my beautiful voice was enough to heal those terrible scratches you had!”

Derek’s gaze snapped down to his sides and widened as he saw that Stiles hadn’t been lying. The gashes on his body had started stitching themselves back together, the werewolf powers finally kicking in and doing their magic.

“I’m not sure your beautiful _voice_ is what we have to thank,” Derek murmured, his words making Stiles blush for reasons he couldn’t quite comprehend. “But yes, it would seem my body has finally decided to start working again, which means you’re free to leave without having to worry about me dying.”

“Is that why you think I stayed?”

The question was out before Stiles could stop it and, truthfully, he wasn’t sure he would have stopped it even if his mouth hadn’t decided to go running off on its own. He wasn’t sure he wanted Derek to believe the only reason Stiles had been there was to keep him alive.

Because yes, it was one of the reasons why Stiles hadn’t wanted Derek to be alone, but they were both lying to themselves if they thought it was the _only_ reason he had stayed behind. After all, Stiles wasn’t the kind of person to help out any random stranger. He didn’t feel as responsible for the world as Scott did. However, he did feel responsible for the people he cared about, and Derek…

He cared about Derek, despite everything that should have made it impossible for him to do so. He cared about the foolish alpha, and he had stayed because he wanted to be near him all the time. He wanted to be near him during the day, when the entire pack was at school but Derek was so far away. He wanted to be near him during the night, when a pair of hazel and red eyes haunted his dreams. And he wanted to be near him every minute in between, when all Stiles could think about was the handsome, gruff, and stubborn werewolf who had wormed his way into Stiles’ heart more effectively than anyone else.

“No,” Derek whispered. “I don’t.”

“Well, good,” Stiles mumbled. “Because I’m going to be staying for a while longer. If that’s- If that’s okay with you, of course.”

It would have been all too easy for Derek to say it wasn’t okay with him. Stiles knew, because he saw the emotions flash in the man’s eyes as he debated what to say next. Which meant he also knew what his answer would be even before he said it out loud.

“Stay. _Please_ , stay.”

And Stiles, with his heart full of emotions he wasn’t quite ready to touch yet, and his mind that screamed at him to figure things out, did the only thing he could possibly do when Derek was staring at him with those far too expressive eyes.

He stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> Heya guys! Thank you so much for reading! And a hug thank you to Em for getting me into the fandom in the first place <3 This is the first Teen Wolf fic I've written, but I hope it turned out all right and that you all enjoyed this little fix-it moment (I'm sure it's been done before but it was bugging me and I couldn't not write it)! 
> 
> Love, Junie. 
> 
> (find me on tumblr @hopesilverheart)


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